Chronos
by holeyearmuffins
Summary: Everybody Katniss loves is dead and the Resistance is "successful." But now the survivors despise her and, right when Coin calls for her death, Beetee sends Katniss back to the 74th Games to save humanity again. Except this time, she knows what to do.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games and all of its characters do not belong to me. However much I may cry, beg, and gnash my teeth, they will never come into my possession.

_Prologue_

Dead.

Everybody is dead. Mom, Haymitch, Finnick, Johanna, Prim... My eyes start burning furiously but my tear ducts are empty. Gale and...

I look down at the body of my only lifeline. Of the man who stood strong next to me through the depths of hell with his head held high and shoulders thrown back.

I'm aware that this is a horrible nightmare, but all that occupies my mind is the empty cadaver I see before me; his warm blue eyes now slowly losing the life out of them like a punctured balloon, his ash blond hair matted down with blood and singed at the tips, his slightly tanned skin now blistered and charred.

I sink down on the cement, rocking back and forth with his callused hand in between my trembling ones. I block out the screams of the parents whose children just got bombarded and mourn over his body with a pain unlike any other.

"Katniss." It is soft, almost close to silence, but I hear it nonetheless. I quickly fumble my way over his hot body and put my ear next to his mouth. "Stay with me." Memories of the day when he sat by me on my bed and when he was about to succumb to the tracker venom come into focus. Before I can say the word he needs to hear, I'm shaken awake urgently.

Right. The Resistance was "successful." Coin is a crowned hero. Everybody hates the symbol of the rebellion. Katniss Everdeen is detained for treason, and her judgment is T.B.D.

I suppress my initial instinct to spring out of my hard bed and vacantly stare up at the only other tribute alive, Beetee. My body in turmoil from the recurring nightmare, his anxious expression dominates my sight with his top lip covered in a sheen of sweat. He taps his glasses subtly, pulling it off as a nervous twitch and motions up to the ceiling. I give him an infinitesimal nod to signal that I understand that we're being watched and I come to the conclusion that Coin has finally mandated for my execution. A sense of relief washes over my wrung out soul.

Finally.

I tell Beetee with my eyes to make it quick, but he dismisses it with a jerk of his head. I crinkle my eyebrows in confusion.

"President Coin has requested for your appearance." He says, the undertone of his voice trembling slightly.

A voice in the back of my head wonders why Beetee cares about being watched if I'm going to be finished off, but I get up anyway. Life isn't worth living anymore.

I rip out my morphling drip before treading down the stark white hallway barefoot. I don't attempt to keep up with Beetee's fast walk until I realize that we're heading in the opposite direction of Coin's office. Picking up my pace robotically, we silently make our way down Headquarters to Beetee's personal lab. The moment we enter, Beetee breaks into a frantic explanation.

"In the next five minutes, President Coin is going to officially tell the entire Capitol that you're a traitor and an enemy to the Resistance. She's going to order for your execution."

I take it in silently, anticipating this inevitable announcement since the day I shot an arrow at her and missed her heart by half a centimeter. I'm surprised it took her a month.

_She wanted you to feel the agony of losing your loved ones. She wanted to break you slowly, piece by piece, until you were broken beyond repair._

Beetee, with his glasses glinting slightly in the fluorescent lighting, appears to be on the verge of having a seizure from his incessant fidgeting. "But that's not going to happen."

I almost moan from despair. What more could they take from me?

"The Resistance failed and it's all our fault." His words begin to sound like a clock ticking away. "Katniss, you're going back." Beetee's eyes dart around the door as if he can sense something coming. With trembling fingers he presses something cold and round into my hand before backing me up onto a strange platform, which is reminiscent of the one that sent me into the Hunger Games.

"What-?" My question cuts off when a barrier forms around me. My pupils dilate with fear, my mind reeling from the flashes of the Games. A short beat later, the doors smash open and the room is quickly flooded with familiar white uniforms. With one last glance at Beetee, who gives me a pleading look, he pushes an ominous black button. A hole appears in his temple as a gush of thick blood covers the side of his face, the light vanishing from behind his glasses.

Shaky palms to the glass, I shout his name once and my vision is quickly shrouded in darkness.

* * *

Deafening silence is all that meets my ears. An explosion of white light substitutes the darkness. The feel of the dress I wore on the day I was picked for the Games reassuringly meets the tips of my fingers. The nostalgic scent of District Twelve fills my nose. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, but relax, for this must be the moment before I die. When the abhorrent light leaves, I'm met with a crowd of people. My people. The people of my home. My stance stiffens while my mouth dries out at the faces of Greasy Sae, Mother, and... a breath hitches in my throat when I see a little girl flailing in the arms of a dark-haired teen, and I'm certain that this is the Moment. However, something's off. The humidity of the air and tension is far too realistic to be fake. I look down at my shaking fist, slowly unfurling it to see the pearl Peeta gave me, and I realize that this isn't a dream. My attention is swiftly averted at the sound of Effie Trinket's voice, who died saving another woman and her child from the Peacekeepers, before comprehending the name she just yelled.

As if in slow motion, the recognizable stocky figure of the same man who died a month before walks onto the stage with a nervous expression.

_Peeta._

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** Yes, Coin is still alive, along with the Capitol and the Peacekeepers. It's all for the plot, my friends. This idea came to mind a long, long time ago but I didn't know what story I should write it to. It was further instilled into my mind by Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Futures Past. I apologize for any grammatical errors.

Review with complements as great as Buttercup, or complaints as bad as tracker venom. All are welcome.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Refer to the first chapter. I think I would burst out sobbing if I had to say it again.

_Chapter One_

The name that haunts my dreams every night now reverberates throughout the summer air. Licking my dry lips, I try to subtly wipe my sweaty palms on the back of my dress while Effie asks the unmoving crowd for any volunteers. I realize my knees are knocking together from shock. Peeta walks to his place beside me with an expression full of alarm. I resist the urge to stare at him; to whisper to him the one word I failed to say; to reach out with my fingertips and feel his steady heartbeat to ensure that he won't disappear again. I want to do everything and anything that will elicit his bright, reassuring grin. Instead I stare at the mayor and do the one thing I'm good at.

Bottling my feelings up.

After the annual reading of the Treaty of Treason, the time comes to shake hands. I close my eyes briefly to drink in the warmth of Peeta's slightly callused hands, the shaky squeeze, the tremors arising from the both of us. But the moment ends too soon. I open my eyes to see him staring at me with a confused look before two people whisk us off stage. In a flurry of motion, they herd us into the Justice Building before leading us off into opposite directions. Away from each other. Again.

A hand shoves me none too gently into the dim room. My knees promptly give out, causing me to collapse on the plush carpet with a burst of pain. I rub my tailbone with furrowed eyebrows, then realize that I'm in my unscarred body. The one not desensitized to pain yet.

Just as the soreness vanishes, Prim and my mother enter the room. I inhale and exhale slowly, choking down the tears that threaten to spill out. _The cameras_ a voice reminds me so I fight down the tears with my molars grinding against one another.

As if it was the first time again, I tell them everything they must and must not do. I remind them that Gale will give them part of his daily shootings and that they will need to pay him back even if he asks for no compensation. To not disappear into a catatonic state for the second time. And the next thing I know, my mother and I are arguing about the same subject as the one we fought about two years ago. But the repugnant Peacekeepers are here, right on time, and the words come spilling out before I can stop them.

"I love you. I love you both. Forever." They mirror back what I say in tight voices, the white uniforms engulfing their bodies in an eerily familiar fashion. With renewed fierceness I say, "I'll make it, just watch." Prim gives me one final strained smile before they're gone. I grip the velvety carpet to prevent myself from tearing off after the two of them and killing each one of those Peacekeepers, but I don't.

I have a Game to attend.

I sense a body at the doorway and know it's Peeta's father. The charred remains of his bones flicker in my vision before I look up at his awkward blue eyes. He stays standing in the doorway rather than in one of the chairs, letting the silence fall over us. A memory of the past replays in my head with clarity. As if it happened yesterday.

* * *

It was the night after our hastily patched up wedding. Peeta and I just laying in bed. His scarred arm cradling my head while his other wraps around me in a protective gesture.

"Katniss."

I slowly look up into his eyes. The events of the rebellion had already removed any trace of innocence from them.

"On the day you were chosen to be in the Games," I stiffen slightly at the memory of the Hunger Games. Never would I have imagined that I'd be repeating this all over again. "My father visited you to give his blessings."

I nod. I knew from the moment he gave me those cookies.

"No, it's not what you think." He begins to run his thumb over my naked ring finger thoughtfully. And then it hits me.

"He knew that I was going to fall for you?" I frown at Peeta skeptically.

"He knew that we were going to get together." He corrects with a slight smile.

"How?" I ask, lacing my fingers with his, drawing out a breathy chuckle.

"The famous Mellark intuition."

* * *

It is these comfortable moments that always make a new abrasion in my worn out heart. Countless of them replayed every night. Horrible flashbacks where the memories are the most vivid and torturous.

A bag of cookies is set gently in front of my curled up stance. I realize that my hands are shaking from gripping the carpet too hard for too long.

He coughs. "I'll keep an eye on the little girl. Make sure she's eating."

Just as I remember it.

"Wait!" My mouth calls out to him. It seems to have a mind of its own today. Peeta's father pauses on his way out but he doesn't turn around. "I..." I try to formulate everything I want to say, and everything I need to say, without giving up too much information about my status. "I... Peeta..." My voice cracks at his name and renders me speechless like an avox.

"I know." He murmurs understandingly, leaving the room on his own accord this time instead of the Peacekeepers coming to fetch him.

I get up from my cramped position. Pacing around the room, I tell myself over and over again _just two more people, Katniss, and you get on the train to the Games. Two more. Two more guests, Soldier Everdeen._

Madge comes and goes, evoking the image of her scorched body within my mind. According to Haymitch, she died trying to save her insane mother, who later passed away from the toxic fumes.

She fastens the mockingjay pin onto my dress- the pin that will one day be the symbol of the Resistance- before walking out. I'm caught between hurling it into a fire and holding onto it with all my might before Gale arrives. I feel the wind escaping my lungs in one breath as I take in his unscathed appearance. He opens his arms and I immediately step into his embrace. A tear manages to find its way out while I take a shuddering breath. The smell of wood smoke and the pine forest next to District 12, with the scent of Gale himself almost makes me moan from agony. It's been too long since I've been with him. I listen to his steady words with melancholy, remembering how the past Katniss took this hug for granted. Gale says everything the exact same as before, and I answer back with the same replies except with less vigor.

The Peacekeepers are back as we say the same parting words. This time around, I notice the frantic look Gale has and the burning agony present when the doors cut off his confession mid sentence. I'm no longer perplexed by his words.

Instead, I become miserable at the inevitable heartbreak Gale will have to go through the next two years. And I'll be there to instigate it. Again.

I'm numbly aware of getting out of the Justice Building and climbing aboard the train, but I've erased all emotions from my face beforehand. Someone pushes me into my room. The door closes and I'm left all alone for the something-th time.

I look down blankly at the sound of a soft plop and spot Peeta's pearl rocking back and forth on the floor. I stoop down to retrieve it, undress, and place it safely next to my mockingjay pin.

Still in autopilot, I make my way into the inviting shower and revel in the satisfying heat. There, I allow my mask to fall.

I permit the coils of happiness from seeing my loved ones again. The sadness from realizing that all of them will never truly be the people I knew in the past. Anger at Beetee for forcing me into the past and relive everything. Anticipation from the thought of saving the lives that matter this time. And most of all: fear. Anxiety. For I will need to face the Capitol a second time. I will need to face President Snow head on a second time. I will need to cope with the terror of my family being in danger for a second time.

Instinctively, the area where Johanna struck me begins to hurt. I raise a shaky palm to it, attempting to alleviate it, but I know it's no use. I realize that I need to tell someone about myself, but who?

An image of a ragged man with a bottle in hand appears in my mind's eye. I can imagine him saying, _"Took you long enough, Sweetheart."_

_

* * *

_

**A/N: **Not too shabby on the updating part, eh? I didn't procrastinate on this chapter... for once... Once again, I apologize for any horrendous grammar mistakes. I know they're in there.

Review with complements as great as Buttercup, or complaints as bad as tracker venom. All are welcome.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Do I have to say it?

_Chapter Two_

_Haymitch, Haymitch, Haymitch, Haymitch..._ my mind is suddenly consumed by his name with no end in sight. Still chanting his name mentally, I manage to clumsily step out of the shower and stumble over to the door, after putting on my green outfit. But I pause for a moment, Beetee's voice reminding me that the cameras are always watching. I realize that in the Capitol's eyes, it would seem suspicious of me to arrive at Haymitch's door without any apparent reason. Collecting myself enough to think coherently, I gaze around the room waiting for inspiration to strike.

On my right side is the ajar bathroom door, the steam from my shower still escaping from it, while a desk with a pad of paper and some pens lay on my left, as well as a large queen-sized bed and lounge couch to front of me.

Inspiration finally strikes in the form of a bottle of wine inconspicuously sitting on the nightstand next to my bed. I grab it and head to the desk, writing down, "_help me win the Hunger Games, Haymitch. It is important that no one sees this."_ Fervently hoping that Haymitch will catch the last sentence's double meaning and that the Capitol would fall for the decoy, I hunch over the paper in an attempt to look like I'm having a mental breakdown, while shielding the note from prying eyes. Moving only my hand, I quickly scrawl down on the back _"7. roof, Capitol."_ Then, after taking a deep breath, I meticulously peel back the label on the bottle and tuck the note underneath it; there is no doubt in my mind that Haymitch will find it immediately.

I slip out of my room stealthily in my hunting mode, opting to leave my stiff shoes behind, and arrive at Haymitch's door without any further complications. Other than fighting the urge to barrel into Peeta's room when I pass it.

"Open up." I say quietly, softly tapping on his door for show.

I found out later in the war that Haymitch's hearing is as keen as mine- if not better. He probably heard me coming down from 20 yards away.

The door stays shut much to my amusement and consternation. Typical Haymitch and his paranoia.

Deciding to move onto Plan B, I look around and spot an Avox walking past the hallway I was standing in.

"Can open this door for me, please?" I ask him politely, to which he nodded back mutely. I silently add the topic of Avoxes to my growing list of things to talk about with Haymitch. All of them were wiped out in the first half of the war due to the nano-sized devices implanted in their brains. And all of them were conveniently programmed to explode at the touch of a button.

The door flies open, and while the Avox flinches with alarm, I calmly present the bottle to Haymitch; my heart wrenches from the sight of his non-decrepit body and relatively healthy complexion. But an image of his waxy face and twitching body fogs up my train of thought, and I'm left with a infinitesimally bigger hole in my heart.

"You." Haymitch snaps at my face, spittle flying out of his generous mouth. The image vanishes as I shake my head from my horrifying reverie. "Did you even hear what I said?" His voice slightly slurs but maintains its commanding tone.

"No, repeat what you said." He gives me a dirty look. It takes a lot out of me to not smile at his familiar demanding attitude. "... please."

His dirty look transforms into a scowl before holding up the gift. "Did you poison this, Sweetheart?"

My calm facade cracks for a second at the last word, but I manage to pick up the pieces and my face becomes emotionless again. Unfortunately, Haymitch notices this and narrows his eyes at me. "Even if I did poison it, I'm sure you would still drink it." I state. Haymitch's eyes are like slits now.

"I value my life, thank you very much." He sneers at me.

I snort in retaliation and open my mouth with a retort before a warm baritone voice interrupts me.

"You kids done? Effie's waiting for us."

I don't need to turn around to know who it is. You could place him in the middle of a crowded room and I could still pick his voice out. An invisible hand begins to tug at the back of my shirt towards him while my hand becomes sweaty from our mere proximity- my heart begins to pound loudly and its as if I can smell him from where I'm standing.

Haymitch merely snorts and pops open the bottle open expertly. He takes a swig from it with an audible sound of contentment. I still haven't turned around, but I can sense Peeta's eyebrows shooting upward.

"Well since I'm here already, I don't suppose you could give us some advice now?"

This inquiry makes me turn slightly towards him, my peripherals drinking in his unmarred appearance. My knees slowly start to lose all feeling, but I hang on because this conversation isn't supposed to happen now. I'm supposed to ask that question. We're supposed to be at the table. I'm supposed to be near the knife that I used to impress Haymitch. This can't happen now or else Peeta and I won't ever win Haymitch over.

But it is happening now and I prepare myself for lots of improvising.

Haymitch opens his mouth, but rather than speaking, he vomits spectacularly on the ground and keels over with a sputter, ending up unconscious in his own puddle of sick.

"Some advice."

* * *

"Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" Effie's voice resounds throughout my head. I still wonder how she manages to be so bubbly and energetic.

I wear yesterday's green outfit, and give myself a pep talk before our fateful conversation with Haymitch. _You won't screw this up, Soldier Everdeen. You won't screw this up like you did with your life. You will win Haymitch over. You will._ I take a deep breath and head over to the dining area, taking the chair across from Peeta.

Still feeling a bit queasy from last night's feast, I choose to go with a plateful of eggs with bits of roasted ham and various vegetables mixed in and hot chocolate with rolls of steaming bread. After Effie politely dismisses herself from the table, I carefully keep my eyes focused on dipping pieces of bread into the rich, frothy chocolate mixture.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," spills out of my mouth as I look up. I train my eyes on Haymitch's glass of spirits.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive, " Haymitch says, to which he begins to laugh raucously at.

Unconsciously, I exchange a look with Peeta, just like the first time this happened. His flawless face and clear blue eyes strike me with full force, forcing the air out of my lungs. My fingers are suddenly very twitchy; eager to delve into his ashy blond hair and grab the lapels of his shirt and bring his lips to mine-

Peeta abruptly vanishes from eye level with the sound of knuckles smashing into bone, and my hand automatically locates a knife and plunges it into the table between Haymitch's thin hand and the bottle.

While Haymitch and Peeta repeat their lines, I smooth my sweaty palms on my napkin, scolding myself for getting carried away with my thoughts. When the important time comes for me to show off, a wave of confidence washes over me and I know I will make the same throw as before. After the dagger lodges itself in the seam, the rest of our conversation continues without a hitch. I feel my anxiety lessen slightly as I overcome this obstacle.

One less thing to worry about.

And soon enough, the train is rolling into the Capitol, and all of its colorful glory; the shining buildings, the plethora of colorful wigs and made up faces, the perfectly symmetrical paved streets.

Peeta and I wave at all of the ecstatic citizens together. I'm no longer bothered by Peeta's want to appeal to the people because I understand where he's coming from, but that doesn't stop my stomach from churning dangerously and the scent of putrid roses from reaching my nose.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm sorry if this was shorter than you expected it to be! Luckily I'm on school break, so I'll be able to update more. Supposedly.

Review with compliments as great as Buttercup, or complaints as bad as tracker venom. All are welcome.


	4. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

I clench the edges of the table in an attempt to not smash Venia's nose into her brain. Exhaling sharply after she rips another strip of fabric from my leg, I can feel my left temple throbbing with pain.

"Sorry!" She chirps, the Capitol accent contaminating her voice. I shove away the urge to cover my ears at the odd vowels, clipped words, and hissed _s_'s. "You're just so hairy!"

I find myself caught between smiling at the nostalgia of her repeated words and scowling darkly at her. I end up scowling, though, when she yanks the last excruciating strip from me. Feeling, once more, like a plucked bird, I anticipate the arrival of Cinna anxiously. Will I act normally around him? Should I act like how I did in the past or should I not? Can I look at his face without seeing his body being beaten by the Peacekeepers?

"Let's call Cinna!" Flavius gushes, his orange hair and purple lips pulling me out of my reverie. Venia, Octavia, and Flavius all scurry off as one in search of my stylist and closest confidant.

The urge to cover up my naked body and to pace around the room are strong. Impulsively, I draw a hand up to my hair, wistfully sighing at the feel of my silky braids Mother made. A chink forms in my armor. But I quickly mend this fracture and return to my neutral expression when the doors open.

Cinna's healthy body and deep green eyes are the first things that I notice. A small smile forms on my face for a split second. Then I am back to my usual wary self, deciding to play it safe and stick with the old Katniss's role.

We are introduced and the swift survey of my body is done. The moment comes when Cinna says, "I asked for District Twelve," I frown infinitesimally. I never did find out why he asked for us. Maybe this time around I will be able to ask him. _If he doesn't die by then_, a voice whispers at the back of my mind. And this tiny thought is what ruins my whole time with Cinna. Every time he looks at me or speaks, I sink deeper into the dark abyss of doubt, questioning my capability of changing the past. A thought lashes out at me then, which completely shatters my confidence.

_Can the past really be changed?_

"You're not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?" Cinna's tenor voice shocks me out of my gloomy thoughts.

The temptation to say, 'you have no idea' is mildly strong. Instead I reply back with a tight-lipped smile.

Finally, I am brought to the opening ceremony in my black unitard with the familiar desire to run curdling in the pit of my stomach. I fidget with my flame-colored cape before Peeta enters my field of vision. Time slows down as I drink in his stocky build and clear, sparkling eyes. My breath hitches in my throat and I feel both giddy, anxious, and fearful at the sight of him; he looks just as I remember him from three years ago. Peeta looks assured and at ease with himself. My hand beings to tremble faintly when he approaches me. Our eyes meet but I break off our connection in a rush. I avoid looking at him during our ride down to the bottom level of the Remake Center for fear of doing something reckless and un-Katniss-like.

The next few minutes find Peeta and me together on our chariots. The words escape my mouth naturally. "What do you think? About the fire?"

A look of surprise flits across his face. Before I can analyze his expression, Peeta opens his mouth and my taut muscles unravel at the sound of his warm baritone voice. Much to my surprise, I didn't even notice how tightly wound I was.

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine." He proposes.

"Deal."

"Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" Peeta asks. The familiarity of it all brings down my guard an inch.

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame." I assert sarcastically.

Peeta is the one to snort and chuckle first before I join him. Our laughter escalates and pretty soon we are drawing odd looks from the people around us, only I catch the meaningful glance which passes between Haymitch and Portia. I brush it off before the opening music begins and the doors reveal the huge masses outside on the streets. The tributes from each district roll out to the crowd's cheers and hollers, and when the sky tinges with darkness, Cinna appears and lights us up without further ado. I am the first to receive the fire. Then Cinna moves over to Peeta, and I make the deadly mistake of looking.

I gasp instinctively at the sight of fire eating its way up Peeta's cape, reminding me of the day I lost Peeta. A scream is rising up my throat and my eyes burn as if they are the ones on fire. I curl my fingers around the edge of the chariot, maintaining enough sense to not rip the torch away from Cinna and drown Peeta in water. My heart is pounding to the beat of the Capitol's wild applause.

A warm hand touches the bottom of my chin. I flinch but am aware that it is Cinna, and not an enemy. He reminds me to keep my head up and smile before unleashing us on the Capitol citizens.

No one notices my breakdown.

Automatically, I shakily reach for Peeta's rough, callused hand. I relish in its warmth and clamminess, irrefutable evidence that Peeta is alive and with me now. He is not dead and he is not being burned alive. I regain my confidence and am transported back to my 16 year old self. I smile as widely as I can, reverting back to Katniss. The girl who _is_ on fire. Soon-to-be symbol of the Resistance. I'm only vaguely aware of the crowd chanting my name or of the deepening sky; the feel of Peeta's hand on mine consumes me and I find myself leaning into his touch. I intertwine my fingers with his, causing Peeta to look down at me. The fire flickers off his blue eyes and creates deep shadows in his face, making his expression indecipherable.

A quick movement in the peripherals of my eyes, though, ruins the moment and I am tense again. I catch the object, the soldier in me thinking that it is an arrow or a dagger, but a rose greets my eyes.

I find myself wishing that it was an arrow or a dagger.

We finally arrive at the City Circle then, and I tighten my grip on Peeta when I see the grotesque figure of President Snow. Bile rises up my throat as crimson red flashes in my eyes. I can literally see the blood dripping from his wrinkled hands and, for a moment, I imagine his deceptively kind eyes probing into mine. My fingers twitch towards my back, where my arrows are usually kept, before Peeta squeezes my sweaty hand reassuringly.

The speech ends without any further incident and we are back in the Training Center taking off our capes. We both notice that our hands are still linked together but we don't make a move to pull them apart. I wait for Peeta to speak with bated breath.

But Cinna's voice speaks up from our left instead. "You both should wear flames more often. They suit you."

This causes me to pry my hand away from his warm grasp and turn to the stylist with wide eyes.

The past is already rewriting itself and I didn't do anything to instigate it.

* * *

We reach the 12th floor in no time and I rush to my room to dress into something more comfortable in preparation for my showdown with Haymitch.

Nothing about the mentor gives anything away, but I don't doubt the fact that he received my note. A few minutes before seven I begin my ascent to the roof a little and await for his arrival by the wind chime garden. It is fifteen minutes past seven by the time he shows up, drunk.

"So what is this about, Sweetheart?" His eyes are glassy, but I can see the sharp clarity in them that only a sober person can have.

I lick my dry lips, wondering how I should break this to him without Haymitch turning away. _"So, I know this will sound preposterous to you, but I am from the future and everyone we know and love is dead. I would like your help, please."_

I snort with derision. Yeah, that will bode well with him.

My left temple throbs painfully.

"Sweetheart, if you don't speak up now, I'm leaving." Haymitch slurs after my brooding silence.

I snap. "Stop with the stupid act, Haymitch. We both know you're not drunk. It'd take a hell of a lot more than that-" I gesture towards his half empty bottle. "-to make you drunk."

His eyes narrow at me, losing their glassy tint. He places his face dangerously close to mine and breathes, "who are you and what do you want?"

But I can't stop to answer his questions. The revelations are already tumbling from my lips before I realize how desperate I am to convince Haymitch that I am from the future and that he has to help me.

"I know you survived the Second Quarter Quell by using the force field. I know what happened to your sweetheart, mother, and younger brother. I know why you detest the Capitol so much. I know you sleep with a knife in hand and why you won't let anyone into your house. I know that in the back of your mind, you entertain the idea of you and Effie being together, but you won't go through with your emotions because you're as messed up as I am. I know that a resistance movement is brewing and District 13 is alive. And I know..." I choke for a beat. "I know that you are going to die two years from now. You died- going to die from withdrawals, because District 13 doesn't allow alcohol and you wanted- going to want to get sober for Peeta and me."

A second later, and I am pinned to the ground with a knife to my throat. Haymitch is furious.

"Who told you all of this? Who are you?" He pushes the knife and nicks my throat. "Answer me." He hisses dangerously.

I laugh hollowly. "Million dollar questions. Sometimes I don't know myself."

In a flash, we switch places. Haymitch stares up at me, finally calming down.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. My home is District 12. There is no District 12. I am the Mockingjay. I brought down the Capitol. President Snow hated me. He killed people I love so I killed him. The Resistance is successful. President Coin hates me. She killed my sister so I tried to kill her. I shouldn't be alive. Beetee sent me back to the 74th Hunger Games to save everyone." I sit back on my heels and bite my nails. "My name is Katniss Everdeen and I shouldn't be alive."

Haymitch lies on the ground in a stupor, realization finally sinking in.

The wine bottle is long forgotten.

A rustling sticks out from the wind chimes' song and we are both on high alert. I reflexively throw the dagger towards the source of the noise, which grants me with a sharp intake of breath. Then a stocky figure emerges from the bushes.

My gray eyes widen in surprise as I moisten my suddenly dry lips, hoping that Peeta didn't hear anything between Haymitch and I.

* * *

Review with complements as great as Buttercup, or complaints as bad as tracker venom. All are welcome.


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